A family's service to country

CLIFTON – In anticipation of Memorial Day, a City native shared one family's story of service and sacrifice by revisiting what life was like in Clifton 70 years ago during the Second World War.

Memorial Day holds special meaning for Arline (Favino) Pearce, pictured above left in 1942 with her sister Dolores. Her family's military service to the United States began with World War I and continues today. Above center is her brother Victor Jr., pictured in 1942 in Weasel Brook Park, above right is her father Victor Sr., in 1915 while serving in the Navy. Below is the Favino's East Russel Street home.

The Favino household's four children and their parents, Lilly and Victor Sr., were thrust into the Great Depression during the 1930s and later experienced wartime America when World War II beckoned.

Arline Pearce was the youngest of the Favino siblings who lived at the end of East Russell Street, then a dead-end street.

Her father spent eight years as a member of the United States Navy before being drafted into the Army and fighting in World War I. Fittingly, his first child, Victor Jr., was born on Armistice Day, Nov. 11, 1921. Five years later, the Favinos welcomed daughter Gloria.

"The 1920s were happy times for them," said Pearce, who was born Arline Favino in 1932, two years after her second sister, Dolores. "The Depression was a time when life was simple, friends and neighbors cared about one another and nothing was thrown away."

Like others in Clifton and around the nation, the Favinos ate whatever was put on the table and never considered complaining. Mealtime was congregational and educational because the children learned from their parents and everyone seated at the table shared their experiences.

"The focus at that time was to help in whatever way you could," Pearce remembered. "The focus was not on oneself. Even, at a young age, you felt this."

As stocks crashed and jobs became scarce, communities banded together and neighbors were forged into large, extended families. Regardless of the trauma or hardships encountered at that time, people found comfort and strength in each other.

"If kids got sick, everyone reached out to Mrs. Weinberg, who lived two houses from me," Pearce recalled. "Not everyone had a phone in the house but Mrs. Jacobitz, who lived across the street, had a wall-phone she made available to neighbors. Her husband was a shoe cobbler and repaired all our shoes. Everyone at that time was needed."

Fortunately for Pearce, her tender age shielded her from much of the realities of life during the Depression.

"It was a sad time, maybe, but we didn't know it," Pearce recalled, adding that she was young enough that the decade flew by.

It was a cold Saturday in 1941, when her 20-year-old brother Victor Jr. enlisted in the Navy. Amazingly, the very next day, one that still lives in infamy and whose impact is passed down generationally, saw Japanese air forces attack Pearl Harbor and thereby officially declare war on the US.

"Listening to the news on that memorable Sunday afternoon was shocking, even for a 9-year-old. Within a year of the infamous day, my mothers' five nephews and many neighbors followed suit, joining the armed forces," said Pearce, recalling that two neighbors, both just 18 years of age, were killed in action. "It was to be the beginning of a change in our lives."

Sobering news reports filled quiet living rooms around the country as attentive families gathered around their radio sets to hear of current events unfolding home and abroad.

Americans were issued ration-stamps for food, gas and clothing. Victor Sr., known to everyone in the neighborhood as "Uncle Vic", owned a barber shop but was always willing to offer a free shave and haircut to servicemen who stopped in.

His wife, Lilly, hand stitched all of the clothing in her three daughters' wardrobe. A seamstress who previously worked in sweat-shops before getting married in 1919, she was known around town as "Miss Lilly" and renowned for her talented hands.

In the streets patriotism was in the air. Flagpoles waved their 48 stars on every house on the block. Stars adorned nearly every window, representing the father, brother or son who had gone off to fight in Europe or North Africa or Japan.

"Everyone, at that time, was very enthusiastic about defending our country," Pearce said. "My mother and many women did baking, knitting, sewing to send packages to the troops. We were aware of conserving. Street lights and car lights were blackened on the top half."

Though days were punctuated by air-raid drills and victory mail as well as rationing restrictions and conservation, a collective sense of purpose and unity became a by-product. The Clifton Theatre on Main Avenue (now a Walgreens) became a sanctuary and safe quarter for residents who could immerse themselves for hours during Saturday matinees and double features.

But the war was never far from their minds, as newsreels narrated by Lowell Thomas interrupted cartoons and The Passaic Herald News published articles on a near-daily basis about a local bred serviceman.

One day, an East Russell Street neighbor received a telegram that her son, 24-year-old serviceman Pvt. John Bobby had stepped on a landmine and had been seriously injured. His daughter, Doreen Bobby, who still resides in Clifton today, said he received a bronze medal as well as a purple heart for his service.

"During that time it was just a very close-knit community," Bobby said, adding that her family and the Favinos remained lifelong friends until they passed. "They were mostly an immigrant population who banded together and helped each other out. They were all very close and continued to be after the war."

Not long after Bobby's injury, Pvt. John Olear, the son of a butcher on nearby Lexington Avenue, was killed in action while in Italy.

In hearing such tragic news, pre-teens like Pearce and her sister Dolores said they felt "useless" because they were younger. As a result, they volunteered with the Red Cross, folded rags into bandages, collected useful items and were incredibly proud to do so. They gathered empty tin cans and dropped them off in the bins that were situated on nearly every City block so they could be reused in the war effort.

Every week, their mother would collect animal fats unused during cooking and bring it to their local butcher shop.

At the time, her children were completely confused by its purpose, but Pearce later learned the glycerin contained in waste fats and greases were utilized to create explosives and served as one of the most indispensable elements of the war effort. Three pounds of fat could yield enough glycerin to produce about one pound of gunpowder.

But women were no longer limited to familial obligations and daily chores.

"They also had to go to work," Pearce said. "Suddenly, their private lives were turned into a very public and patriotic cause. My sister, Gloria, got a job in Curtiss-Wright Aeronautical in Clifton. The changes that women underwent in the late 1930s and early 1940s would be felt for generations to come."

When relatives and their brothers-in-arms returned to the area on leave, the Favino home became a full-service lodge. Pearce's brother and cousins, who lived on the first floor of the Botany Village section home, were all Navy men who opened up the house to their military friends stationed nearby.

When the younger Favino siblings awoke in the morning they would often encounter a handful of servicemen sleeping on the living room and dining room floors. One of the soldiers who visited, Raymond Vachon, literally became part of the family when he married the eldest Favino daughter, Gloria, whom he first met at the family's home.

"And, whenever my mother knew the troops were moving out, she took my sister and I to New York City, so we could wave them a farewell by throwing candy bars to the servicemen," Pearce said.

But nothing compared to the news that the Japanese had issued a formal cease fire on Aug. 17, 1945. People were dancing, singing and tossing confetti in the street.

"We knew the war was really over when the car and street lights came on again," Pearce remembered.

Months later, the family was once again whole when her brother and cousins returned home.

"Everything I do today stems from them," Pearce said of the courage and sacrifice embodied by her father and brother's military service.

But the military lineage remains strong in the Favino family. Victor Jr.'s three sons all served in the Vietnam War and his great grandson graduated from West Point last May. Pearce's son served in the Marines for 12 years after graduating from Seton Hall University.

Pearce, now 80 years old, attended School 12, graduated from Clifton High School and received a nursing degree from William Paterson University before becoming a registered nurse. Now retired, she enjoys writing, sketching, playing piano, volunteering and is on call for the medical reserve corps.

A family's service to country

Memorial Day holds special meaning for Arline (Favino) Pearce, pictured above left in 1942 with her sister Dolores. Her family's military service to the United States began with World War I and continues today. Above center is her brother Victor Jr., pictured in 1942 in Weasel Brook Park, above right is her father Victor Sr., in 1915 while serving in the Navy. Below is the Favino's East Russel Street home.

Arline Pearce was the youngest of the Favino siblings who lived at the end of East Russell Street, then a dead-end street.

Her father spent eight years as a member of the United States Navy before being drafted into the Army and fighting in World War I. Fittingly, his first child, Victor Jr., was born on Armistice Day, Nov. 11, 1921. Five years later, the Favinos welcomed daughter Gloria.

"The 1920s were happy times for them," said Pearce, who was born Arline Favino in 1932, two years after her second sister, Dolores. "The Depression was a time when life was simple, friends and neighbors cared about one another and nothing was thrown away."

Like others in Clifton and around the nation, the Favinos ate whatever was put on the table and never considered complaining. Mealtime was congregational and educational because the children learned from their parents and everyone seated at the table shared their experiences.

"The focus at that time was to help in whatever way you could," Pearce remembered. "The focus was not on oneself. Even, at a young age, you felt this."

As stocks crashed and jobs became scarce, communities banded together and neighbors were forged into large, extended families. Regardless of the trauma or hardships encountered at that time, people found comfort and strength in each other.

"If kids got sick, everyone reached out to Mrs. Weinberg, who lived two houses from me," Pearce recalled. "Not everyone had a phone in the house but Mrs. Jacobitz, who lived across the street, had a wall-phone she made available to neighbors. Her husband was a shoe cobbler and repaired all our shoes. Everyone at that time was needed."

Fortunately for Pearce, her tender age shielded her from much of the realities of life during the Depression.

"It was a sad time, maybe, but we didn't know it," Pearce recalled, adding that she was young enough that the decade flew by.

It was a cold Saturday in 1941, when her 20-year-old brother Victor Jr. enlisted in the Navy. Amazingly, the very next day, one that still lives in infamy and whose impact is passed down generationally, saw Japanese air forces attack Pearl Harbor and thereby officially declare war on the US.

"Listening to the news on that memorable Sunday afternoon was shocking, even for a 9-year-old. Within a year of the infamous day, my mothers' five nephews and many neighbors followed suit, joining the armed forces," said Pearce, recalling that two neighbors, both just 18 years of age, were killed in action. "It was to be the beginning of a change in our lives."

Sobering news reports filled quiet living rooms around the country as attentive families gathered around their radio sets to hear of current events unfolding home and abroad.

Americans were issued ration-stamps for food, gas and clothing. Victor Sr., known to everyone in the neighborhood as "Uncle Vic", owned a barber shop but was always willing to offer a free shave and haircut to servicemen who stopped in.

His wife, Lilly, hand stitched all of the clothing in her three daughters' wardrobe. A seamstress who previously worked in sweat-shops before getting married in 1919, she was known around town as "Miss Lilly" and renowned for her talented hands.

In the streets patriotism was in the air. Flagpoles waved their 48 stars on every house on the block. Stars adorned nearly every window, representing the father, brother or son who had gone off to fight in Europe or North Africa or Japan.

"Everyone, at that time, was very enthusiastic about defending our country," Pearce said. "My mother and many women did baking, knitting, sewing to send packages to the troops. We were aware of conserving. Street lights and car lights were blackened on the top half."

Though days were punctuated by air-raid drills and victory mail as well as rationing restrictions and conservation, a collective sense of purpose and unity became a by-product. The Clifton Theatre on Main Avenue (now a Walgreens) became a sanctuary and safe quarter for residents who could immerse themselves for hours during Saturday matinees and double features.

But the war was never far from their minds, as newsreels narrated by Lowell Thomas interrupted cartoons and The Passaic Herald News published articles on a near-daily basis about a local bred serviceman.

One day, an East Russell Street neighbor received a telegram that her son, 24-year-old serviceman Pvt. John Bobby had stepped on a landmine and had been seriously injured. His daughter, Doreen Bobby, who still resides in Clifton today, said he received a bronze medal as well as a purple heart for his service.